


World Enough, and Time

by orphan_account



Series: Agents and Ministers of Grace [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 04:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie helps Peggy move into Griffith House.</p>
            </blockquote>





	World Enough, and Time

Peggy knew there was no point asking any of the strapping lads from the office to help her move into Griffith House; none of them would say yes except Souza, who would be helpful more in spirit than anything else. And Jarvis was Howard's butler, not Peggy’s. And none of it mattered anyhow, since there weren’t any men allowed above the first floor. Period. 

But she had Angie, who was about as enthusiastic as Peggy had seen her about anything, ever. She showed up at Peggy’s  before seven a.m., hair up in a ponytail, wearing comfortable shoes, and bearing a couple of breakfast sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper. She kept squeezing Peggy’s hands and telling her how excited she was and how much she was going to love it at Griffith even if Mrs. Fry was an old sourpuss. The enthusiasm, despite everything weighing on Peggy’s mind, still managed to be infectious. Angie was almost giddy as she helped drag all of Peggy’s various sized boxes and bags down to the street, chattering the whole time about how nice it was going to be to have a friend next door. 

After they’d arranged all of Peggy’s belongings into a sort of mini-Everest on the sidewalk, they flagged down a yellow cab, filled the entire trunk, and then a good deal of the back seat. They climbed in, squashed in so tightly that they sat with Angie’s leg pressed against hers in a way that would be uncomfortable if it had been anyone else. In fact, as the cab wound its way through the packed streets of Manhattan, Angie did become uncomfortable and rearranged her leg to throw it over Peggy’s, apologizing perfunctorily. 

Peggy smiled. “It’s fine. I don’t mind a bit.” _Ugh, smooth, Carter_ , she thought with mild annoyance. She didn’t mind, though. The weight of Angie’s thigh on hers made Peggy’s stomach warm and light, and the flowery perfume she wore was just enough to stir her senses -- any more would have been dizzying, but it was strong enough to bring a smile to Peggy’s lips that stayed there as her eyes settled on Angie’s delicate ears, imagining her dabbing the perfume behind them earlier that morning. 

Peggy’s gut nagged her that it was no good to entertain these feelings for the girl, for all sorts of reasons. Yet she found herself indulging them. In fact, she gave herself more rope than normal, knowing it was highly unlikely that they were mutual; if there were little no chance that Angie could possibly feel the same, then it was perfectly safe to enjoy the warm flush that came to her skin every time they sat a bit close or Angie looked at her a bit too long. It couldn't go anywhere, so it was fine. This wouldn't be like Paris, after all. 

Peggy hadn’t ever told anyone about Paris, except for Steve, and she’d been near tears about it, because who does that sort of thing? He’d been surprisingly accepting about it all; he asked a few questions, wanted to know if she’d been in love with the woman, if it was the same as feelings she’d had for men. He confessed that he didn’t quite understand the way it worked, but assured her that he didn’t think any differently of her. “If there was any fella I’d feel that way about, it’d be Bucky,” he’d added. And Peggy had found it so sweet that he wasn’t judging her badly, and was in fact trying his best to empathize. She felt a pang of loneliness. 

Angie nudged her in the ribs. “Hey English! S’amatter, you getting all mopey on me?” 

Peggy smiled and wiped a little tear from the corner of her eye. “Sorry, just … tired and feeling a little… emotional, that’s all.” 

“That time of the month, huh?” Angie joked, winking. 

“What? No!” Peggy exclaimed, laughing and nudging her back. 

“Just playing around, Peg, take it easy!” She turned a bit more serious and patted Peggy’s knee, adding, “I know you’ve had a lot of stuff going on, _some of it you haven’t been telling me about_ \--” Her tone was mildly annoyed here. “But it’s gonna be good for you. You know?” 

Peggy nodded. Yes, she thought. It would be good.

 

**

 

After they finished hauling all of the stuff upstairs (how the bloody hell did she even own this much stuff?), Peggy insisted on taking Angie to dinner as a thank you.

"Aw, you don't have to do that," Angie demurred.

"No, really, I insist. It's the least I can do."

Angie grinned at her. "You're a real sweetheart, you know that?" She wiped her sweaty forehead and said, "Let me clean up and we'll go by the Automat."

"Actually," Peggy answered carefully, "I had something a bit nicer in mind."

 

**

 

Angie couldn't stop herself from looking around, wide-eyed, at the white linen tablecloths that seemed to almost glow in the candle light, the graceful waiters and dignified maitre d'. She admired all the flatware for the fourteenth time since they'd sat down and sighed, "Oh, Peg, Chez Rousseau? This is really too much! I can't let you take me here. I ain't even had a fella take me out someplace this nice."

Peggy smiled. "You deserve it. And more."

Angie grabbed her hand, blushing a little. "But Peg, this place is so fancy, how can you afford this on what they pay you at the phone company?"

"I have a little saved," Peggy answered. Technically not a lie. It was foolish. Stupid. She didn't care. She squeezed Angie's hand in return. "Can't think of a better reason to spend it."

Angie sighed, looking regretful as she pulled her hand slowly away. "Look at us," she said, suddenly seeming a little dejected. "Coupla old maids getting fancy on a Saturday night."

"Speak for yourself, Brooklyn, I'm married to my work," Peggy replied, her stock answer sounding unusually flimsy as she sat here, looking at Angie with her hair done up and the modest string of pearls sitting luminous against her chest.

"Baloney," Angie said firmly. "There's someone out there for you. There's someone out there for everyone."

"Nothing in the world is single," Peggy sighed.

"Huh?"

"Uh, Shelley."

"Who's she?"

Peggy chuckled. "He. _Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine, In one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine?_ " She gazed exepectantly at Angie to see if she recognized it.

Angie got that look again, that look Peggy had seen in the Automat when she'd recited that Wordsworth. She wanted to see more of that look. "Oh, gosh, Peg. Is there more?"

Peggy nodded, plunging on with the warmth rising in her chest as she recited the rest. " _See the mountains kiss high heaven And the waves clasp one another; No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth And the moonbeams kiss the sea: What is all this sweet work worth If thou kiss not me?_ "

"Oh, Peg," Angie sighed, looking utterly slain. Peggy was enjoying it far too much. Thank god the waiter appeared at just this moment or else Peggy would have been tempted to say something very stupid. "That's awful nice."

She ordered for both of them in perfect French, which left Angie impressed again, but this time she caught herself. "What'd you tell 'em? We're French royalty and they better treat us like it?"

Peggy laughed. "Yes, exactly." 

 

** 

 

They caught a yellow cab back to Griffith House, slightly tipsy on very good French wine and addressing each other as _comtesse_ all the way home. They walked upstairs together and awkwardly paused in front of Angie's open door. "You wanna... come in?" she asked hopefully.

Peggy's hand rested on Angie's shoulder. They were leaning a little too hard on one another. She could almost feel her breath. She knew Angie's mouth would taste like the excellent, crisp red they'd been drinking, like the eclair that they'd just shared for dessert.

She couldn't possibly be reading this right. An Italian, Catholic working girl from Brooklyn, how could Peggy possibly think she'd be interested in such shenanigans?

"Had we but world enough, and time," Peggy mumbled, suddenly mortified with herself, and leaned in, gave Angie a peck on the cheek, memorized its warmth, squeezed her shoulder once.  "I'd really better go to sleep."

"Thanks again, Peg," Angie whispered. Peggy shook her head.

"No. Thank _you_." She slipped away to her room, and castigated herself for her idiocy until she fell asleep, at which point she spent the entire night dreaming of Angie's mouth, and what pleasures it might or might not hold.


End file.
